"When the cloth begins to unravel, a wise weaver checks both ends."

– Ancient Dunmer proverb

†††

"Sleep well?"

The question jolted Llathasa awake. She'd expected it, but she experienced a moment of cold panic before that knowledge reached the forefront of her mind. Her next thought was that she had to go for her dagger, not for a spell. That was what Llathasa would do. Llathasa was a mage, yes, but not a prodigy. First, she was a killer. One new to the craft, and out of her depth.

She sat and drew her blade in one frantic movement, then stared around, disorientated, until she spotted the speaker in a high corner of the room.

It was a wooden shack, and not the place where she had laid down to sleep, alone. She suspected she – they – were in the marshland north of Morthal. Llathasa, a Dunmer and Solstheim native, wouldn't know where that was.

"My, but you are a jumpy one," the woman in the rafters observed. She was perched atop a battered cupboard, one leg dangling over the edge in languid unconcern. Close-fitting black armour hid her body, while a red cowl concealed much of her face. Llathasa held her mocking gaze for a moment, and then looked carefully around the room, keeping the assassin in her peripheral vision.

Her captor – or host, if you chose to look at it that way – did not let the silence stand for long.

"You are being duller than I expected. Oh, this might be a little disconcerting, but really, what have you to worry about? You're warm, dry, and still alive. That's more than can be said of some.

"Not that I blame you," she continued, when the Dunmer did not immediately respond. Her tone grew cooler as she spoke, belying the playful words. "He was a crooked money-lender, and a bully. No wonder you had to come to the defence of your poor, defenceless kin."

"What?" Llathasa croaked, still brandishing the dagger.

"What?" the assassin repeated scornfully, as she swung her other leg down, landing noiselessly. "All that contemplation, and that's the best you can manage?"

"What do you want from me?" Llathasa asked meekly.

The assassin sidled nearer. Her footsteps were unnaturally silent – but not just through skill, Llathasa noticed. Her boots were spelled.

Llathasa watched, transfixed, until the woman loomed right above her. Her pale eyes were unreadable. Abruptly she stuck out a gloved hand, then burst out laughing when the gesture made the Dunmer flinch from head to toe.

"Come now, there's no need for that," the assassin said as tears spilled down Llathasa's stricken face. The silky, menacing edge dropped from her voice, and Astrid – no, the nameless, mysterious assassin – regarded her with frank curiosity. "Stand up."

Llathasa accepted the offered hand and got to her feet.

"Well, you are not at all what I was expecting."

"Who are you?" Llathasa asked.

"I represent the Dark Brotherhood. You must have heard of us, even on your backwater island…perhaps not, poor girl," she concluded for herself. "Assassins. Though nothing so crude as the common sort," she added, seeing Llathasa's expression. "We are a family. My name is Astrid. Now, I think you had better explain yourself. You manage one of the tidiest kills I've ever heard of –"

"I didn't kill anyone!" Llathasa protested.

"I know!" Astrid agreed admiringly. "That was the beauty of it, you never touched him. You weren't there. And yet the orc met his death by your design. That's why I thought you'd be more proud – it was so elegantly done."

Llathasa hung her head and sniffed into her sleeve. The dagger, she dropped. When she began to speak, she addressed the floor rather than the assassin's encouraging gaze.

"It had to be done. The townsfolk of Raven Rock are poor. The mine dried up. Mogrul arrived and lent people the coin they needed to last the season. Then, when everyone owed him something, he turned on them. He started tightening the noose, and people starved to pay him back."

"So, you decided to act. You must have planned for some time."

"Not so long," Llathasa replied distractedly. She sat on the edge of the bed, hardly noticing that Astrid had guided her there. She could not say she was completely untouched by the murder, but it was strange to confess the details. She was proud, in an embarrassed sort of way. The assassin remained standing, listening at a polite distance.

"Since the ebony failed, most everyone abandoned Solstheim. Mogrul stood out. He was the only orc, and he was tall. He had to bend down to get through our doors. Many of the buildings in Raven Rock are underground, including the cornerclub. A tavern, you'd call it?" Astrid shrugged, but motioned for her to continue.

"Mogrul's regular table was in the antechamber just below the surface. I knew I could dig down to it, so I volunteered to plant out the ash yams –"

"Ash yams," Astrid repeated wryly. "Of course."

"Nothing else grows in the tainted soil," Llathasa started to explain, before she noticed that Astrid looked like she was grinning behind the mask. "I helped with the new crop, and when I knew I was over the cornerclub, I dug deep. I cast a frenzy rune a few inches from the roof, and planted the new yams above."

"Concealing the evidence of the spell," Astrid noted. "There was nothing on the ceiling, and why would anyone think to check the roof of an underground building. So, the orc triggered your rune, but to the observer, he simply went berserk until the local mercenary put him down. And with the only proof buried – before the murder even took place, I might add – there was not a soul that could link you to it. Well, only one soul."

"No," Llathasa said firmly, but Astrid laughed at her again.

"Then why leave? Why flee across a freezing ocean – to Windhelm's slum?"

She came closer and indicated Llathasa's badly cut hair.

"Why disguise yourself?"

"No one saw anything," the Dunmer elf insisted, though she clasped her hands to think. "No one saw anything," she repeated, watching Astrid through narrowed eyes. "Teldryn killed Mogrul in self-defence, and the councillors pardoned him."

"Indeed. Perhaps, I should instead say that not a soul alive could link you to the crime," Astrid said, in an oddly gentle tone. Llathasa looked puzzled for a moment, then her red eyes widened.

"He knew it was me?" She demanded. "Good," she said, though her voice quivered. "Good. I'm glad." A few more tears slipped down her face, but she was smiling. Smiling and crying at the same time, watched over by an approving fellow murderer.

It was more emotion than Llathasa was accustomed to feeling, and she wasn't sure whether she liked it.

"Why did you leave," Astrid asked, after a while. Llathasa buried her face in her hands before answering, composing herself.

"I had no reason to stay. I have no one." She shrugged, reconciled that there were worse fates than solitude.

"You do, if you wish it," Astrid said. "I am officially inviting you to join my Family. There's more filth out there, and the Dark Brotherhood welcomes those willing to dirty their hands to clean it. Travel to the southwest reaches of Skyrim. In the Pine Forest, hidden below the road, you'll find the Black Door. Knock, and answer Silence, my brother. Then you're in."

That was it. All that Llathasa needed to learn: the passcode to open the impenetrable door. She could walk away now and let others step in, or she could stay her course. Astrid had fallen into the role of den mother, guiding the new pup. Llathasa met her gaze with a mixture of hope, indecision, and loneliness on display.

She was too wary to call anything certain, but Llathasa was confident the assassin couldn't see the triumph and sadness underneath. She would kill her, and her entire family.